


Lost Lightning

by Isilweth



Category: Stardust (2007)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, Post-Movie(s), Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilweth/pseuds/Isilweth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lightning in Stormhold is lost. Captain Shakespeare must tell Tristan & Yvaine this horrific news, but what will become of himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuKestrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuKestrel/gifts).



> Thank you to Steffie for the awesome beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Thunder roars around the Caspartine, the airship rattling in the sky, which blazes as though angry with the changes brought by the new kingdom. The Captain can't say he blames the thunder. It is perhaps missing Yvaine from the heavens. He smiles to himself, knowing his friend is excited with her recent nuptials.

  
The Captain is in his cabin, the silk of his favorite dress caressing his skin. The dress with the ruffles, lace, and petticoats. Ever since his crew revealed they'd been aware all along that he was a “Whoopsie”, he's enjoyed his new freedom, knowing his reputation remains intact with his crew.

  
With the thunder bellowing, he rushes above deck. They are getting near the lightning. This is his favorite part! The crash and boom around him stirs his blood, as he yells orders to his crew. "Prepare the cannons!" "Hoist the top-sail!" Ah, it’s fun to be a pirate!

 

The lightning dances around them, throwing shadows and sparks across the planes of his ship. The Captain giggles with glee. His dress is clinging to his skin. His heels drown in water splashing across the deck. This is a familiar dance. The lightning and his crew: One to one they waltz together. One, two, three, one, two, three. Through the reeling storm, the ship buffeted on all sides, through the inky clouds marking the night, all is well. The stars smile down on their adventures.

 

A sharp and brilliant flash, and the magnificent electrical gift from the heavens is gone. The sky is clear. The stars twinkle from their distant perches. There is no thunder. No rain. No wind. No storm. No lightning.

 

Captain Shakespeare finds himself in an unusual predicament; he doesn't know what to do.

**\--~~~--**

The fallen star glows as she approaches, her happiness, as it so often is, a resident part of her countenance.

 

The Captain bows low, removing his top hat in deference. 

 

“Your Majesty.”

 

Her eyes twinkle, as she welcomes him, and he feels a twinge of guilt at his tidings. He hates to dampen her spirit.

 

They exchange pleasantries, but Yvaine can sense his disquiet, and the Captain knows it. 

 

“I'm afraid I've some terrible news to report, my dear.”

 

Yvaine dims, as he thought she would; the light emanating from her tapering to a mear shine.

 

He decides not to equivocate. 

 

“There is a shortage of lightning. My crew have encountered no storms for nigh past a fortnight.”

 

Yvaine’s eyes spark. She looks dangerous, and the Captain is reminded of the tough lass aboard his ship.

 

“They dare not!” she thunders, and amused, the Captain briefly wonders if a fallen star can bring back the lightning strikes through sheer rage.

 

Captain Shakespeare crosses his arms in consternation. 

 

“Forgive me, your Majesty, but do you know who took the lightning?“

 

“Do I know? Do I know!” She flounces. It's not royal, not graceful, not especially lovely, but it's honest, and it's what she does. Flounces. “Of course, I know.” She's seething, now. 

 

Oh, dear. 

 

The Captain frowns down at his royal friend, now a muted royal lump on the floor.

 

Tentatively, he reaches out and pats her shoulder. She takes his hand, and raises her eyes to his with a sympathetic frown. The bluster has gone out of her sails.

 

“I'm a disappointment, Shakespeare,” she starts, “I'm not what they wanted.”

 

The Captain frowns back at her words. He recognizes this faulty logic, even if he doesn't know what she’s talking about, nor how it relates to the missing lightning. He keeps her hand in his, as he sits beside the fallen star.

 

“You know, I used to think that,” he shares softly. 

 

She nods because she remembers. 

 

“I was wrong,” he says simply because it's true and he's a brave man, even if he doesn't always realize it. “So, are you.”

 

She smiles. She begins to shine again, a pale glow radiating next to him. “Thank you, Captain.” She hesitates, then, “Captain Ghostmaker would be proud of you.”

 

The Captain returns her smile, and helps her to her feet, mindful of her dress. "Uh, about the lightning… “

**\--~~~--**

Cutlass slashes against cutlass, the sharp ‘ting’ rattling in his ears, as the impact reverberates up his arm. He steps to the right and counters the strike from his opponent; he’s careful to avoid the pointy end. 

He spies Tristan engage with another foe upon the bow, and the Captain is spurred forward into action. He dispatches the brute he is fighting with his favorite thrust, and continues to fight his way through the fray, past amidships, eager to put Tristan at his back.

 

Finally, he reaches the bow. Here, he can feel the spray from the clouds splash his face; he braces his feet against the howling wind. Thunder roars around him; a flash of lightning surges across the sky. Captain Shakespeare laughs, a great guffah, his joy billowing from him into the atmosphere.

 

It’s contagious, and Tristan joins him in merriment. 

 

“I do believe the lady is successful, Captain.”

 

“As are we, Your Majesty,” the Captain rejoins as the last of their enemies is dispatched.

 

Around him, he hears the mighty shouts of his crew carry into the night.

**\--~~~--**

Captain Shakespeare paces in the royal antechamber. His petticoat chassés around him as he walks, the soft hush of the silk fabric rustling against cotton. He fiddles with the ruffled lace of his collar, suddenly feeling stifled. Oh, if only he could have avoided all this “official” nonsense. 

 

“Captain, you must!” the lovely Queen insists.

 

“I am sorry, your Majesty, but I must refuse. For though I do indeed love Stormhold with all my heart, I must think of my crew.” The Captain valiantly protests.

 

At this there is an overly-loud cleared throat from his first mate. The Captain shoots him a quizzical look.

 

His first mate flutters his eyebrows. Oh! So, that's what he wants! It all becomes clear.

 

“My men will require a weekly spa treatment. Each time, we come to port, we'll need fresh loofah.” The Captain triumphantly declares.

 

At this, his first mate gesticulates wildly. Apparently, that’s not it.

 

The Captain throws up his arms. Sometimes, these things just made no sense. “Arr!” he tries.

 

Finally, the King from England Beyond the Wall takes pity upon him. “Captain, you shall have whatever you require. My father even promises to procure a Shakespeare play.”

 

The Captain becomes positively giddy at the prospect. Real Shakespeare from England! He looks at his first mate who smiles, and nods.

 

He was once better at this negotiation business. Which all brings him to his current predicament: to no longer be a pirate, but an officer of the realm. His crew could have families, his business partners would be, well, business partners. And his reputation, well… he’ll represent Stormhold. 

 

He sighs. 

 

“I accept.”

 

King Tristan steps forward and embraces him.

 

“Uncle,” he addresses the Captain, a pretense he refuses to drop, even at court. Their eyes meet, Tristan nods, and Captain Shakespeare lowers himself to his left knee, mindful of his skirts as he descends. 

 

Tristan sets his sword gently on his shoulder. “In dedication to your service to the realm, we hereby declare you, Captain Shakespeare of the Caspartine, official Lightning Bearer of Stormhold. Rise, good sir.”

 

He stands, then Yvaine steps forward and kisses his cheek. “May your weather be always stormy and bright.”

 

“Arr!” he rejoins. His crew and his friends join him in celebration, and all is right in the realm.

**\--~~~--**


End file.
